CRC Press is an imprint of Taylor & Francis Group, an Informa business
No claim to original U.S. Government works
Printed on acid-free paper
International Standard Book Number-13: 978-1-4441-2098-1 (Pack - Book and Ebook)
International Standard Book Number-13: 978-1-138-09172-6 (Hardback)
This book contains information obtained from authentic and highly regarded sources While all reasonable efforts have been made to publish reliable data and information, neither the author[s] nor the publisher can accept any legal responsibility or liability for any errors or omissions that may be made The publishers wish to make clear that any views or opinions expressed in this book by individual editors, authors or contributors are personal to them and do not necessarily reflect the views/ opinions of the publishers. The information or guidance contained in this book is intended for use by medical, scientific or health-care professionals and is provided strictly as a supplement to the medical or other professional’s own judgement, their knowledge of the patient’s medical history, relevant manufacturer’s instructions and the appropriate best practice guidelines Because of the rapid advances in medical science, any information or advice on dosages, procedures or diagnoses should be independently verified. The reader is strongly urged to consult the relevant national drug formulary and the drug companies’ and device or material manufacturers’ printed instructions, and their websites, before administering or utilizing any of the drugs, devices or materials mentioned in this book. This book does not indicate whether a particular treatment is appropriate or suitable for a particular individual Ultimately it is the sole responsibility of the medical professional to make his or her own professional judgements, so as to advise and treat patients appropriately The authors and publishers have also attempted to trace the copyright holders of all material reproduced in this publication and apologize to copyright holders if permission to publish in this form has not been obtained If any copyright material has not been acknowledged please write and let us know so we may rectify in any future reprint.
Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Law, no part of this book may be reprinted, reproduced, transmitted, or utilized in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, microfilming, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publishers.
For permission to photocopy or use material electronically from this work, please access www copyright com (http://www copyright com/) or contact the Copyright Clearance Center, Inc (CCC), 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, 978-750-8400. CCC is a not-for-profit organization that provides licenses and registration for a variety of users For organizations that have been granted a photocopy license by the CCC, a separate system of payment has been arranged
Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.
Visit the Taylor & Francis Web site at http://www taylorandfrancis com and the CRC Press Web site at http://www crcpress com
BASIC ORTHOPAEDIC SCIENCES
SECOND EDITION
MANOJ RAMACHANDRAN
with illustrations by Tom Nunn
Dedication (First edition)
For Joanna. Everything I do, I do is for you and you only.
Dedication (Second edition)
As always, for my gorgeous wife Joanna but now also for my three beautiful children, Isabel, Mia and Zac.
Contents
Contributors
Preface to Second Edition
Preface to First Edition
Foreword to First Edition
Acknowledgements in the First Edition
Abbreviations
1 Statistics
Manoj Ramachandran, Dan Perry, David Little and Fares Haddad
2 Genetics
Peter Calder, Harish Hosalkar and Aresh-Hashemi Nejad
3 Skeletal Embryology and limb growth
Rick Brown, Anish Sangrajka and Deborah Eastwood
4 Orthopaedic Pharmacology
Manoj Ramachandran, Daud Chou and Natasha Rahman
5 Inflammation and Infection
Vikas Khanduja, Sertazniel SinghKang and Manoj Ramachandran
6 Imaging Techniques
Manoj Ramachandran, Dennis Kosuge, Navin Ramachandran and Asif
Saifuddin
7 Orthopaedic Oncology
Nimal Maruthainar, Rej Bhumbra and Steve Cannon
8 Ligament and Tendon
Cheh-Chin Tai, James Hui and Andy Williams 9 Meniscus
Vijai Ranawat, Patrick Schottel, Anil Ranawat and John Skinner
Articular Cartilage
Tim Waters, Nima Heidari and George Bentley 11 Nerve
Mike Fox,Caroline Hing, Sam Heaton and Rolfe Birch 12 Skeletal Muscle
Mike Fox, Steve Key and Simon Lambert 13 Basics of Bone
Peter Bates, Bjarne Moller-Madsen, Ali Noorani and Manoj Ramachandran 14 Bone Injury, Healing and Grafting
Peter Bates, Andrea Yeo and Manoj Ramachandran 15 Intervertebral Disc
Will Aston, Alexander Montgomery and Rajiv Bajekal 16 Basic Concepts in Biomechanics
Manoj Ramachandran and Paul Lee 17 Biomaterial Behaviour
Subhamoy Chatterjee, Toby Baring and Gordon Blunn 18 Biomaterials
Subhamoy Chatterjee, John Stammers and Gordon Blunn
Biomechanics and Joint Replacement of the Hip
Mark Mullins, Thomas Youm and John Skinner 20 Biomechanics and Joint Replacement of the Knee
Alister Hart, Joshua Lee, Richard Carrington and Paul Allen
21 Biomechanics of the Spine
Amir Ali Narvani, Arun Ranganathan, Brian Hsu and Lester Wilson
22 Biomechanics and Joint Replacement of the Shoulder and Elbow
Mark Falworth, Prakash Jayakumar and Simon Lambert
23 Biomechanics of the Hand and Wrist
Nicholas Saw, Livio Di Mascio and David Evans
24 Biomechanics and Joint Replacement of the Foot and Ankle
Rohit Madhav, Amit Amin, Deborah Eastwood and Dishan Singh
25 Friction, Lubrication, Wear and Corrosion
Gurdeep Biring, Iain McNamara, Marcus Bankes, Jay Meswania and Gordon Blunn
26 Gait
Pramod Achan, Mark Paterson and Fergal Monsell
27 Prosthetics
Manoj Ramachandran, Imad Sedki, Jo Dartnell and Linda Marks
28 Orthotics
Manoj Ramachandran, Kyle James and Lisa Mitchell
29 Inside the Operating Theatre
Manoj Ramachandran, Steve Key and Alan White
30 Basic Science of Osteoarthritis
Chetan Jayadev and Andrew Price
31 Biomechanics of Fracture Fixation
Nick Aresti, Paul Culpan and Peter Bates
Appendix
Common Bone and Joint Disorders
Peter Bates, Prakash Jayakumar and Manoj Ramachandran
Index
Contributors
Pramod Achan
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon and Clinical Director
Royal London Hospital London, UK
Paul Allen
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Princess Alexandra Hospital Essex, UK
Amit Amin
Consultant Foot and Ankle Surgeon
St George’s University Hospital London, UK
Nick Aresti
Specialty Registrar in Trauma & Orthopaedic Surgery
Royal London Hospital London, UK
Will Aston
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon and Honorary Senior Lecturer
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital Middlesex, UK
Rajiv Bajekal
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon Barnet Hospital
Herts, UK
Marcus Bankes
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Guy’s Hospital London, UK
Toby Baring
Consultant Shoulder and Elbow Surgeon
Homerton University Hospitals NHS Trust London, UK
Peter Bates
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon and Honorary Senior Lecturer
Royal London Hospital London, UK
Professor George Bentley
Emeritus Professor and Director, Institute of Orthopaedics and MusculoskeletalSkeletal Science, University College London
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon (retired),
Royal National Othopaedic Hospital
Middlesex, UK
Rej Bhumbra
Consultant Trauma and Orthopaedic Surgeon
Royal London Hospital London, UK
Professor Rolfe Birch
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon (retired)
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital
Middlesex, UK
Gurdeep Biring
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon Wycombe Hospital Bucks, UK
Professor Gordon Blunn
Professor of Biomedical Engineering
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital Middlesex, UK
Richard Brown
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon Cheltenham General Hospital Gloucester, UK
Peter Calder
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital Middlesex, UK
Steve Cannon
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon (retired)
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital Middlesex, UK
Richard Carrington
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon and Joint Reconstruction Unit Lead
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital Middlesex, UK
Subhamoy Chatterjee
Consultant Spinal Surgeon
Chase Farm Hospital Enfield, UK
Daud Chou
Specialty Registrar in Trauma & Orthopaedic Surgery
Royal London Hospital London, UK
Paul Culpan
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon (Lower Limb and Pelvic and Acetabular Service)
Royal London Hospital
London, UK
Jo Dartnell
Consultant Paediatric Orthopaedic Surgeon
Maidstone and Tunbridge Wells NHS Trust
Kent, UK
Deborah Eastwood
Consultant Paediatric Orthopaedic Surgeon
Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children and Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital
Middlesex UK
David Evans
Consultant Hand Surgeon
The Hand Clinic
Berks, UK
Mark Falworth
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital Middlesex, UK
Michael Fox
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital
Middlesex, UK
Fares Haddad
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Divisional Clinical Director - Surgical Specialties
University College London Hospitals
London, UK
Alister Hart
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon and Professor of Orthopaedic Surgery
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital
Middlesex, UK
Sam Heaton
Specialty Registrar in Trauma & Orthopaedic Surgery
Royal London Hospital London, UK
Nima Heidari
Consultant Foot, Ankle and Limb Reconstruction Surgeon Royal London Hospital London, UK
Caroline Hing
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
St George’s University Hospitals NHS Trust London, UK
Harish Hosalkar
Attending Orthopedic Surgeon, Director, Centre for Hip Preservation and Children’s Orthopedics California, USA
Brian Hsu
Consultant Spinal Surgeon Children’s Hospital at Westmead Sydney, Australia
James Hui
Head, Senior Consultant and Professor Division of Paediatric Orthopaedics
Department of Orthopaedic Surgery
National University Hospital Singapore
Kyle James
Medical Director and Orthopaedic Surgeon
Beit Cure International Hospital Malawi
and Honorary Senior Lecturer, Trauma Sciences MSc Programme
Queen Mary University of London, UK
Chetan Jayadev
Specialty Registrar in Trauma & Orthopaedic Surgery
Royal London Hospital
London, UK
Prakash Jayakumar
Specialty Registrar in Trauma & Orthopaedic Surgery
Royal London Hospital
London, UK
Steve Key
Specialty Registrar in Trauma & Orthopaedic Surgery
Royal London Hospital
London, UK
Vikas Khanduja
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon and Associate Lecturer
Conjoint Professor Paediatrics and Child Health University of Sydney, Australia
Rohit Madhav
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
London Orthopaedic Surgeons Ltd
The Princess Grace Hospital
London, UK
Linda Marks
Consultant in Rehabilitation Medicine (retired)
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital
Middlesex, UK
Nimal Maruthainar
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Royal Free Hospital
London, UK
Livio diMascio
Consultant in Upper Limb and Hand Surgery
Royal London Hospital
London, UK
Iain McNamara
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon and Honorary Professor
The Norfolk and Norwich University
Hospitals NHS Trust
Norwich, UK
Jay Meswania
Department of Biomechanical Engineering
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital
Middlesex, UK
Lisa Mitchell
Clinical Specialist Orthotist
Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children
London, UK
Bjarne Moller-Madsen
Consultant and Professor Department of Children’s Orthopaedics
Aarhus University Hospital NBG
Denmark
Fergal Monsell
Consultant Paediatric Orthopaedic Surgeon
Bristol Royal Hospital for Children
Bristol, UK
Alexander Montgomery
Consultant Spinal
Orthopaedic Surgeon
Royal London Hospital
London, UK
Mark Mullins
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Morriston Hospital
Swansea, UK
Amir Ali Narvani
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Ashford and St Peter’s Hospitals
NHS Trust
Surrey, UK
Aresh-Hashemi Nejad
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital
Middlesex, UK
Ali Noorani
Consultant Orthopaedic and Trauma Surgeon (Upper Limb Service)
Royal London Hospital
London, UK
Tom Nunn
Consultant Trauma and Orthopaedics Surgeon
Royal Alexandra Hospital
Glasgow, UK
Natasha Rahman
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Royal Sussex County Hospital
Brighton, UK
Manoj Ramachandran
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon and Honorary Reader
Royal London Hospital
London, UK
Navin Ramachandran
Consultant Radiologist and Honorary Senior Lecturer
University College London Hospitals NHS Trust
London, UK
Anil Ranawat
Associate Attending Orthopedic Surgeon and Associate Professor of Orthopedic Surgery
Hospital for Special Surgery
New York, USA
Vijai Ranawat
Senior Medical Practitioner
Department of Orthopaedics
The Repatriation General Hospital
Adelaide, Australia
Arun Ranganathan
Consultant Orthopaedic and Spinal Surgeon
Royal London Hospital London, UK
Mark Paterson
Consultant Paediatric Orthopaedic Surgeon (ex)
Royal London Hospital London, UK
Dan Perry
Senior Lecturer in Orthopaedic
Surgery and Honorary Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Alder Hey Children’s NHS Trust Liverpool, UK
Andrew Price
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon and Professor
Nuffield Orthopaedic Centre Oxford, UK
Asif Saifuddin
Consultant Radiologist
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital Middlesex UK
Anish Sangrajka
Consultant Paediatric Orthopaedic Surgeon
The Norfolk and Norwich University Hospitals NHS Trust Norwich, UK
Nicholas Saw
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Princess Alexandra Hospital
Essex, UK
Patrick Schottel
Orthopedic Surgeon and Assistant Professor
The University of Vermont Medical Center
Vermont, USA
Imad Sedki
Consultant in Rehabilitation Medicine
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital
Middlesex, UK
Dishan Singh
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital
Middlesex, UK
Sertazniel SinghKang
Consultant Trauma & Orthopaedic
Surgeon and Associate Lecturer
Cambridge University Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust
Cambridge, UK
John Skinner
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital
Middlesex, UK
John Stammers
Specialty Registrar in Trauma & Orthopaedic Surgery Royal London Hospital London, UK
Cheh-Chin Tai
Hip & Knee Orthopaedic Surgeon
Department of Orthopaedic Surgery
University of Malaya
Malaysia
Tim Waters
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon, Clinical Director for Trauma & Orthopaedics
West Hertfordshire Hospitals NHS Trust
Herts, UK
Alan White
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Southend University Hospital Westcliff-on-Sea, UK
Andrew Williams
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon
Chelsea and Westminster Hospital NHS Trust London, UK
Lester Wilson
Consultant Spinal Surgeon
Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital Middlesex, UK
Andrea Yeo
Consultant Paediatric Orthopaedic Surgeon
St George’s University Hospital NHS Trust London, UK
Thomas Youm
Clinical Assistant Professor and Director of Hip Arthroscopy
NYU Hospital for Joint Diseases
New York, USA
Preface to the second edition
I am extremely proud to be able to bring you, the reader, the second edition of the Basic Orthopaedic Sciences book. It has been another labour of love but this time, I have had constant and incredible help from Tom Nunn who has kept me going through this process but has also signficantly enhanced the book with his amazing illustrations. Thanks Tom!
I’ve tried to correct any and all the mistakes from the first edition but if any creep through, do let me know. There are new chapters and updated concepts throughout and I hope this book continues to be as comprehensive as the first was.
You may have noticed that the title of the second edition has been shortened to Basic Orthopaedic Sciences. This is for two reasons. The first is that all the new contributors (each chapter has had at least one new contributor added whose job was to refresh the text, approaching it with new eyes) came from institutions around the world, which made this book a truly global effort. Therefore, I wanted to stay away from a title that implied parochialism. Secondly, I have been a Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon for more than ten years now, primarily at the Royal London and Barts and The London Children’s Hospitals, Barts Health NHS Trust in London, England and although the concepts for the second edition matured during my time here, I still wanted to keep the title general and not allied to any particular institution.
Finally, I want to thank all the contributors, new and old, for making this book what it has become and I hope you, the reader, find it helpful for building the solid foundations of your orthopaedic knowledge and practice.
Manoj Ramachandran
manojorthopod@gmail.com
London 2017
The first edition of this book is legendary, the sacred text of orthopaedic basic science. I am convinced it is the reason I, and many like me, passed the FRCS(Tr&Orth).
In the preface to that edition, as here, Manoj suggests the reader send any feedback they may have in order that he may improve upon the edition. This is not mere editorial rhetoric. He means it. In 2009 I met Manoj at what was then the pre-exam revision course based upon his book. I gave my “feedback” on the diagrams, and a few emails and years later, I found myself entrusted with reconceptualising and producing pretty much every image in the book.
I am not a formally trained illustrator, I am an orthopaedic surgeon just like many of you. I do however know the importance of a good diagram and have an enthusiasm for them and the role they have in the learning process. The English idiom “a picture paints a thousand words” may often be over used, but here I feel it is entirely appropriate. Drawings have three main uses as I see it: to aid in the understanding of a concept, to help in the recollection of that information, and to allow one to relay that same information quickly and easily when needed (to an examiner for example). The diagrams I have produced will hopefully deliver on the first two and I would implore you to not shy away from using them for the third.
I hope you enjoy this book as much as I have enjoyed helping produce it, and do send your feedback. Who knows, in another few years, it could be you sitting here writing an entry for a future edition!
Tom Nunn
tom@nunngeo.com
Glasgow 2017
Preface to the first edition
How many times have you heard a colleague say, “I once knew everything about articular cartilage/hip biomechanics/statistics (substitute any orthopaedic basic science topic here) but I seem to have forgotten the exact details. Anyway, you’re the one sitting the exam, not me!” Oh, how trainees love to hear those dulcet tones of encouragement …
I like to think that learning orthopaedic basic sciences is somewhat similar to learning anatomy at medical school. It is certainly better to have learnt once than not at all. Equally, it is better to have understood concepts than to have committed facts to rote memory. Having spouted all these wise words though, I still feel that there is an awful lot to learn in orthopaedic basic sciences. The aim of this book is to tease out the pertinent points that are relevant both to exam situations and day-to-day clinical practice. Although originally conceived with postgraduate orthopaedic exams in mind, the final text has evolved into a primer in basic sciences for all health professionals with an interest in orthopaedics, mainly as a result of the input from all the contributors.
This first edition has drawn from and expanded on the popular “Stanmore Basic Sciences course” run at the Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital in Middlesex, UK. The book’s scope and focus were determined by feedback from candidates on the course and from field-testing at its various stages of development (which makes it sound much more impressive than it really was!). Ideas such as bold highlighting of key words and concepts, and the use of only five key references for further reading, were added along the way. Diagrams have been kept simple for ease of reproduction as and when required. Although the book is not exhaustive, and indeed does not claim to be, a working knowledge of the text should serve the readers well in their journey through the quagmire that is basic sciences.
Finally, a personal note. I wanted to put together a text that doesn’t insult the reader by aiming too low and omitting key information. Equally, aiming too high (as some books do) would be disastrous. I’ve settled for a happy medium. I urge
you, the reader, having read this book, to rest safe in the knowledge that you are at the higher end of the orthopaedic basic science Gaussian curve. And from this vantage position, from where you can attack any exam-related or basic science query, I urge you to send me feedback so I can improve upon this edition and perhaps even invite you onto the panel of authors on the next one.
Now all you have to do is start by learning how exactly a Gaussian curve is defined …
Manoj Ramachandran
manojorthopod@gmail.com
Foreword to the first edition
Knowledge of basic science is an essential platform on which to build an understanding of orthopaedics. It is necessary for day-to-day clinical work, research, publications and examinations. This book has been developed to cover the major areas of basic science required by orthopaedic surgeons and all those associated with musculoskeletal function and dysfunction.
Although it would be impossible to cover every facet of basic science, the sections are wideranging, from statistics to biomechanics and from pharmacology to gait analysis. Sections on all the musculoskeletal tissues have been included, together with sections on the functions of all the joints. Relevant areas of biomaterials, friction and lubrication, together with the basic tools of research, including statistics, have also been included in a form that provides the essence of knowledge required of the trainee.
The majority of the chapters have a junior and senior author. Each senior author has an expertise in the area covered, while the junior author has provided the focus required for postgraduate orthopaedic examinations. Each section is well organized and easy to read and contains a wealth of information essential to the reader. The viva questions are useful in assessing the reader’s understanding of the section with an added essential reading section for the examination candidate.
Basic Orthopaedic Sciences: The Stanmore Guide has been ably edited by Manoj Ramachandran, Paediatric and Young Adult Fellow on the Stanmore Rotation, who is to be congratulated in bringing together such a disparate group of topics, along with the contributors for making many difficult topics so understandable.
I am sure this book will become a necessary addition to any library for those requiring information on orthopaedic basic sciences in a concise and readable form.
George SE Dowd MD MCh(Orth) FRCS
Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon (ex), Royal Free Hospital, London, UK
Acknowledgements in the first edition
I’d like to start by thanking all the authors for putting up with my constant nagging about deadlines. I hope you all think it was worth the effort. The senior reviewers did a great job too. I must single out Dishan Singh as the book’s catalyst during its embryonic stages. The conversations we had back in 2002 are the reason why this book even came into being. In addition, Deborah Eastwood worked tirelessly (as always!) in the latter stages of the book’s development to ensure that deadlines were met and people were chased up.
I’d also like to thank and congratulate the team at Hodder Arnold for making this book happen. Finally, I must thank everyone in my personal life for putting up with me during my multiple projects. My deepest gratitude though goes to my wife, Joanna.
Another random document with no related content on Scribd:
no wise be inconvenienced thereby From that moment on, every one who had less than half an hour before witnessed the scene of sorrowful parting, which had so touchingly told how completely the little fellow had walked into the hearts of his benefactors,—from that time on, every one felt a personal responsibility for the comfort and safety of the boy. Introduced under circumstances that rendered him a hero at the outset, at the end of the first day he had already become the pet of the passengers and the object of their kindliest attentions.
While the claim that this child was remarkable for beauty and cleverness might lend sentiment and romance to my simple narrative, the fact is that he was neither handsome nor bright. In appearance he was simply a plain, plump, red-cheeked, flaxenhaired baby boy, with apparently little to be proud of, save his evident good health and a pair of large blue eyes that seemed frankness itself. His accomplishments were few, indeed. He was still, as the sisters had said, learning to walk. His vocabulary included but three or four imperfectly spoken words, and he was conspicuously deficient in that parrot-like precociousness so common and frequently so highly prized in little children. But what our youthful companion lacked in attractive outwardness was more than made up by the true inwardness of one accomplishment he did possess. That was silence. This virtue he practised to a degree that soon won for him the admiration and affection of all. Though exhibiting no sign of embarrassment at the friendly advances of the passengers, and while not unmoved by their tender attentions, he maintained through that long journey a humble air of mute contentment that lost its balance on but three occasions.
His quiet ways were a theme of constant comment, while his presence proved not only a source of increasing pleasure to our small band of tourists, but did much to relieve the monotony of the tedious journey.
One important detail in the boy's eventful history was missing. Cared for by strangers from earliest infancy, deprived of his mother's love and father's care, he had thus far not even received that allimportant parental gift,—a Christian name. To the sisters he had
been known simply as "Baby." By that infantile appellation he had passed from their gentle mercies to the conductor's care. And only as "Baby homeward bound" was he spoken of in their letter addressed to his father.
Before he had spent a day among us it was suggested that his exemplary conduct entitled him to a more dignified name—at least during the period of our companionship. And this suggestion led to one of many amusing incidents. By what name should the boy be known? After the question had been eagerly answered a dozen times in as many different ways, with apparently little hope of a unanimous choice—for every one felt that his or her preference was peculiarly appropriate—a quiet old man, whose appearance was strongly suggestive of the pioneer days, offered a happy solution of the difficulty. He proposed that, in view of the humble circumstances of the child, the privilege of naming him for the trip be sold at auction among the passengers of our car, adding, by way of explanation, that the sum thus realized might "give the little fellow a start in life."
The average overland tourist is never slow to adopt any expedient to relieve the tedium of the journey; and here was, as one chap expressed it, "A chance for an auction on wheels, and one for charity's sake, at that." So the proposition was no sooner stated than acted upon. The auctioneer found himself unanimously elected, and, placing himself in the center of the car, heard the bidding, prompted by every generous impulse that enthusiasm and sympathy can give, rise rapidly in sums of one, two, and three dollars until thirty-five was called. There it halted, but only for a moment. The situation had become exciting. The auctioneer himself now took a hand in the competition; and a round of applause greeted his bid, made in the name of his native State, "Ohio bids fifty dollars." It was regarded as a matter of course that this sum would secure the coveted privilege. But no! Some one remarks that yet another county remains to be heard from. The voice of the weather-worn pioneer,—the suggester of the scheme,—has not yet been heard in the bidding. He has been a silent looker-on, biding his time. Now it has come. As he rises slowly in his seat he is intently watched by every eye, for somehow the impression prevails that he hails from "the coast," and that
consequently there can be nothing small in anything he does; In this no one is disappointed. The heart and purse of the gray-haired veteran are in the cause. Besides, his "pride is up" for the State he worships, almost idolizes. As his clear voice rings out with: "California sees Ohio's fifty, and goes fifty better," he is greeted by a storm of cheers that he will remember as long as he lives. And when the auctioneer announces: "California pays one hundred dollars and secures the privilege of naming the boy; what name shall it be?" the answer comes back quick as a flash:
"Grit! That sounds well and seems to fit well."
The passengers thought so, too, and very plainly showed their approval by overwhelming the man with congratulations and good wishes.
Reports of our proceedings were not slow in reaching the passengers in other parts of the train, whose curiosity or compassion led to numerous daily visits, while thoughtful sympathy found expression in liberal gifts of fruit, photographs, and a variety of Indian toys, as curious as they were welcome. To the old Californian, whose great liberality had secured for him a place in the respect and goodwill of the entire party which was second only to that held by Grit himself, these continued attentions proved a source of special delight. Though he bore his honors with becoming modesty, he found early opportunity of proposing the health of the boy, who, as he aptly expressed it, "had been rocked in the cradle of misfortune, but had at last struck the color." Equally happy was his reply to a party of jolly cowboys, whom curiosity had led to solicit "a peep at the silent kid," while the train was delayed at one of the eating stations along the road. Their request having been granted, one of their number felt so highly elated upon receiving a handshake from Grit that he insisted upon presenting him with his huge cowboy spurs as a keepsake, proclaiming as he did so—with a trifle more enthusiasm than reverence—that in "paying a hundred to nominate the cute little kid, 'old California' carved his own name upon the Rock of Ages."
"Bless his little heart," replied the grizzled miner; "I'd give ten thousand more to own him, now that he has won his spurs."
Among the recollections of my personal experiences with Grit, the second night of the journey stands out with especial clearness. At that time we were passing through the famous snowshed section on the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada, our train running at a high rate of speed in order to make up lost time. It was here that the bravery of our little hero was put to a cruel test. Some time after midnight I was awakened by a child's frantic screams, that rose loud above the train's thundering noise. And, though up to this time there had not been a single tearful outbreak on the part of the young Trojan, there could be no mistaking the source of the piercing shrieks that now met my ears. I lost no time in hastening to his assistance, for I knew that, by way of experiment, he had been quartered in a "section" entirely by himself, the previous night having been a sleepless one to both the conductor and his charge. Furthermore, it was evident from his agonizing cries that I was the first to hear him. Finding the car in total darkness, the lights on both ends having gone out, I met with some delay in feeling my way to the terrified child, calling to him as I went; and at the first touch of my hand the trembling, feverish little form drew close to me, its chubby arms closed wildly about my neck, while loud, hysterical sobs told more plainly than words can express the agony that the child had endured. Only one who is familiar with sleeping-car travel over mountainous country, who has found himself suddenly aroused by the terrific roaring and swaying of a swiftly running train, and who, unconscious for the instant of his surroundings, has felt his flesh creep and his heart stand still, as he imagined himself engulfed by a mighty torrent or hurled over some awful precipice, only such an one can realize the position of this terror-stricken child.
Arousing the porter, who had gone to sleep while blacking the passengers' boots, I carried Grit to my own berth, where my endeavors to soothe his disturbed feelings proved so highly successful that the re-lighting of the car was greeted by him with loud laughter, through the still lingering tears. But go to sleep again he would not. No matter how often I tucked him beneath the blankets
and settled myself to pretended slumbers, he would as often extricate himself, and, in a sitting posture, silently contemplate his surroundings. Fearing to doze off under the circumstances, I finally concluded to sit up with the little fellow until sleep should overcome him. Making his way to my side as I sat on the edge of the berth, and placing his face close to mine, he imparted the cause of his persistent wakefulness by a gently uttered "dwink!"—repeating the word with more emphasis after a moment's pause. Happily, ample provisions had been made to meet his wants in this direction, and, procuring from the porter's "baby's bakery," as the well-provided lunch basket we had presented him at Sacramento had come to be known, I helped him to a glass of milk, after drinking which he fell quickly to sleep.
After that night's experience, Grit singled me out as his particular friend; and, as a consequence, he was nightly permitted to share my section with me. In these closer relations I found him the gentlest, most loving, and best-behaved child I ever met. It seemed as though he knew and felt that he stood sadly alone in the world, and that the less trouble he gave to others the better he would get on. His spirit of contentment and faculty of self-entertainment were phenomenal. While cards, books, conversation, and sleep served as a means of passing away time among the other passengers, he would for hours at a time remain in sole possession of a favorite corner seat, silently musing over some simple Indian toy. Again, an illustrated time-table or railway map would absorb his entire attention, until he had apparently mastered every detail of the intricate document. To watch the little toddling figure, after these prolonged periods of selfamusement, as, clad in a long, loose, gray gown, it quietly made its way along the car on a tour of inspection, proved an appealing study. Finding his arrival at my seat unnoticed at times—by reason of my absorption in a book or game of cards—he would announce his presence by a series of steady pulls at my coat, and make known his wants by a sweetly mumbled "Mum-mum." Repeated falls, incurred during these excursions, never caused him to falter in his purpose, nor did these, at any time, result in any other than good-natured demonstrations.
On but one occasion, aside from that already alluded to, was he moved to tears—an unlucky incident that happened while our party was taking breakfast at Cheyenne, sadly upsetting the remarkable tranquillity of his mind. We had scarcely seated ourselves at the table, with the boy, as usual, perched in a baby chair in the midst of the party, when, espying an orange that a little girl next to him had placed beside her plate, Grit, innocently unmindful of its ownership, proceeded to help himself to the inviting fruit. No sooner had he grasped it than a sharp slap from his fair neighbor's hand sent it rolling along the floor The child started, trembled; keenly hurt in more ways than one by what was, no doubt, the first punishment he had ever received, he burst into heart-rending tears.
Turning to me with outstretched arms, his piteously spoken "Mummum" cast a shadow over the festive occasion, and to some of us, at least, placed the further discussion of the meal beyond desire. Taking him back to the car, we were quickly joined by the conductor and our friend from the coast, who, after denouncing the "outrage" with frontier fluency, insisted that he should demand an apology from the offender, who was "plenty old enough to know better," and whose indignity to Grit, "right before a lot of strangers, was nothing short of an insult to our entire party." He "would rather," he continued, "fast a whole month" than sit by and again witness such conduct from one whose "sex and insignificance prevented a man from even drawing his gun in defense of the most helpless and innocent little creature on earth."
Something in the old man's manner, as he uttered these words, left little doubt in the minds of the passengers, now returning from the hurriedly finished meal, that, had Grit's tormentor been unfortunate enough to belong to the sterner sex, the novel experience of serving on a coroner's jury in the cowboy country would doubtless have been afforded us. This tension of feeling was happily relieved, however, by the appearance of the offender in person, who, accompanied by her mother, tearfully presented, not only her humble apology, but that bone of contention, the tropical product itself, which she insisted should be accepted as a peace offering.
As the journey progressed, each day brought to our party frequent reminders of their constantly increasing attachment, not only for the little hero, but for each other. And it became more and more apparent, now that the Rockies had already been left behind, and our thoughts turned to the inevitable breaking up of the happy band, that Grit's presence had been the unconscious means of forming among his companions a strong bond of friendship and goodfellowship—one that could not be severed without sincere mutual regrets.
The morning of the last day found us still speeding over the seemingly endless cattle plains, where the frequent spectacle of immense grazing herds, guarded by picturesque bands of frolicking cowboys, added novelty and interest to the monotony of the scene.
It was in the early part of the afternoon of that day, while Grit was enjoying his customary mid-day nap, and the final games of whist and euchre so completely enlisted our interest as to render unnoticed the locomotive's shrill notes of warning to trespassing cattle, that a sudden terrific crash, followed by violent jolting and swaying of the car, breaking of windows, and pitching about of passengers and baggage, caused a scene of consternation and suffering.
Mingled with shouts of "Collision!" from men, and the screams of panic-stricken women, came the engineer's piercing signal for "Down brakes!" and before the car had fairly regained its balance upon the rails and the occupants had time to extricate themselves or realize what had happened, the train had come to a standstill.
More frightened than hurt, people instantly began bolting frantically for the doors, questioning and shouting to one another as they went. In the midst of the wild confusion arose cries of "Save Grit! Look out for the baby!" The words sent a shock to the heart of every hearer. Fear vanished. Personal peril was forgotten for the moment. Not a soul left the car! Though women had fainted and men lay motionless as if paralyzed, but one thought filled the minds of those who had heard the appeal: Was Grit safe?
In a moment the answer to this unasked question fell from the lips of one whose intense affection for the boy he had so appropriately named needed no appeal to carry him to his side in time of peril. "The child is hurt! Somebody go and see if there is a doctor on the train!" In willing response, several men rushed out among the excited throng that poured from the other cars.
Before us, on a pillowed seat, to which he had just borne him , lay Grit, half unconscious, pale, limp, and breathing with painful difficulty. The sudden shock which had almost overturned the car had rudely thrown him from his bed to the floor. There, between two unoccupied seats on the opposite side of the car, we had found him, convulsively gasping for breath, one little hand still grasping tightly the Indian dollbaby that for days had been his cherished companion. Though an examination of his body revealed no marks of violence, he was evidently in great pain. Applying such restoratives as were at hand, we gradually revived consciousness. Every attempt, however, to lift him or change his reclining position visibly increased his suffering.
Word soon came back that no physician could be found, that the accident was caused by the train coming into collision with a band of stray cattle. So far as could be hastily ascertained, one man had been fatally injured, while many persons had sustained serious bruises and strains. From the train conductor it was further learned that neither the locomotive nor any of the cars had been sufficiently damaged to prevent our proceeding to Omaha—still some five or six hours distant.
After a brief stop for the purpose of a careful examination of all parts of the train, we were again under way; the engineer having orders, in view of the injured passengers, to make the run in the fastest time possible.
The remainder of the journey was, even to the most fortunate, associated with sadness. But whatever the suffering on that ill-fated train, memory carries me back to but one sorrowful scene,—the bedside about which lingered the friends of the little stranger whom we had learned to love so well. In the presence of his suffering our own lesser injuries were forgotten, and all efforts were bent upon
securing for the little sufferer every comfort possible under the adverse circumstances. With a view to lessening the painful effect of the constant jarring and shaking motion, a swinging bed was speedily improvised in the middle of the car, and here, surrounded by his sorrowing companions, lay Grit, enduring in silence the pains that his pale, sadly troubled face so keenly expressed.
Late in the evening the train reached its destination, without further mishap.
It had not yet come to a standstill in the station when, accompanied by the sleeping-car conductor, the father of Grit entered the car Early in the day it had been resolved by the passengers that three of their number should meet the father upon his arrival, for the purpose of exonerating the conductor from any carelessness, and also for offering their assistance in caring for the child during the night. Now, however, reminded of their former happy anticipation of the meeting between parent and child, a shudder of sadness caused them irresistibly to shrink from a scene of welcome more deeply sad, even, than that sorrowful parting which they had witnessed on entering upon their journey a few days before.
As the stranger, deeply agitated, anxiously made his way to the central group, however, earnest sympathy found ready expression; and ere his eye had met the object of its search a friendly voice checked and bade him be calm and hopeful. "Your child, sir," continued the speaker reassuringly, "has not entirely recovered from the rough shaking-up we got a little while ago. He had a lucky escape, but now needs rest and quiet, and—you and I had perhaps better go for a doctor, while our friends here convey the boy to the hotel, where we shall join them shortly." And as the uneasy parent bends over the little bed and with inquiring look seeks from the calm blue eyes some token of recognition or sign of hope, the voice, more urgent—as though suddenly stirred by memories of an eventful past —again breaks in: "Let us lose no time in making the child more comfortable."
A few moments later Grit's friends stood around his bed at the neighboring hotel, listening to the verdict of the physician hastily
summoned by the big-hearted pioneer Internal injury of an extent unknown, but whose nature would probably develop before morning, was the verdict given after a careful examination. Alleviating measures, however, were suggested, which the distracted father hastened to put into effect. It was during one of his absences from the room that the big-hearted pioneer, drawing the doctor to one side, appealed to him in faltering tones to save the child "at any sacrifice or any cost."
But the appeal, though touching, was unnecessary. Higher considerations than those of personal gain prompted the kind doctor to exercise his utmost skill. After his first visit not an hour passed but what his footsteps brought to the watchers reassuring proof of his deep interest in the case. And finally, yielding apparently to the soothing remedies, Grit fell into slumber that brought encouragement to his friends, none of whom could be induced, however, to forsake his bedside.
During the vigils of the night the father was repeatedly moved to speak of the sorrows of his life; of the sudden, fatal illness of his loving young wife; and of her ardent assurance that her last thoughts were solely of himself "and baby," coupled with the fervent wish that the two might "some day find a home in California, where in their final rest all three might once again be side by side."
Towards morning the boy grew suddenly restive, and violent coughing spells brought back the condition of semi-unconsciousness of the previous day. The doctor, evidently expecting a crisis, now remained constantly at his side.
The change came at last.
Just after dawn a beam of light broke softly over the little face, and new hope came to the anxious watchers. But, mistaking the silent messenger's approach for the herald of returning health, they had hoped in vain. The peaceful smile lingered but a moment, then returned once again, as though the beckoning spirit "Was loth to quit its hold," and Grit had fallen asleep.
As a token of affection for her child, and in compliance with the dying mother's wish, the friends of Grit secured for the husband and father —chiefly through the generosity of one whose deeds shall outlive the recollection of his name—a permanent home in California; while the boy sleeps by her side, where the peaceful silence be so sweetly symbolized is never broken save by the weird lullaby of the waves that gently rise and fall over the distant shadows of Lone Mountain.
Kootchie.
BY HAROLD KINSABBY.
THE east wind had failed to put in an appearance that evening, and the thermometer registered ninety-five under the stately elms of the Boston Common.
The family had gone away for the summer, and Buttons and the butler were out for an airing. Both were so well fed and so little exercised that they needed something to stir their blood.
Buttons was a sleek, fat pug, with a knowing eye and oily manner. They called him Buttons because the harness he wore about his forequarters was studded with shining ornaments.
His companion was likewise sleek and fat, and the amount of lofty dignity he stored under his bobtailed jacket and broadcloth trousers told everybody that he was the butler. He carried a wicked little cane with a loaded head, and seemed to own the greater part of the earth.
As the two strolled proudly through the Beacon Street Mall, fate favored Buttons and the butler. There was a cat on the Common,—a pet cat without an escort. This cat belonged to one of the wealthy families who at the tail end of winter board up their city residences and go to the country to spend the summer and save their taxes. The owners of this particular cat had speeded missionaries to the four corners of the globe to evangelize the heathen, but their pet puss they had turned into the streets of the modern Athens to seek its own salvation. With no home or visible means of support, but with true Christian fortitude, the dumb creature now haunted the doorstep of the deserted mansion and grew thin. Hunger had at last driven her to the Common in the hope that she might surprise an erring sparrow, or, perchance, purloin a forgetful frog from the pond.
The instant Buttons spied her he gave chase and drove her for refuge into a small tree. Then he stood below and barked furiously, until the sympathizing butler shook the tree and gave him another chance. This time the cat barely succeeded in reaching a low perch on the iron fence, from which with terrified gaze she watched her tormentor.
"Why do you torture that cat?" angrily asked a quiet gentleman who sat on one of the shady benches holding a yellow-haired little girl on his knee.
"Oh, me and Buttons is having a little fun," answered the butler "Buttons is death on cats."
The quiet man said nothing, but got up, helped the frightened cat to escape to a safe hiding-place, and then resumed his seat.
That night puss went to bed without a supper, while her owner presided at the one hundred and eleventh seaside anniversary of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and punctuated the courses of a fish dinner with rare vintages of missionary port.
The next evening the same heat hung heavily over the Beacon Street Mall, and Buttons and the butler were again taking an airing and looking for fun.
As Buttons neared the scene of his former encounter, he pricked up his ears, and sniffed the air for the scent of game. Presently his anxious eye was attracted by something his pug nose had failed to detect. On a bench near by sat the quiet gentleman whose acquaintance Buttons and the butler had made on the previous evening. The same yellow-haired little girl was seated near him, intently watching the rings of cigar smoke he puffed high into the evening air. Between the two a huge inflated paper bag was surging to and fro. It was this paper bag that had caught the eye of Buttons. It interested him. Drawing himself all up in a heap, he proceeded with cautious, measured step to satisfy his curiosity. As he slowly approached the curious object, his low, fretful growls seemed to rouse it to renewed gymnastics. This frightened Buttons and caused him to turn tail and flee. His curiosity had, however, got the better of
him, and, returning to what he deemed a safe distance, he began barking furiously.
"Cat, Buttons, where's the cat?" came from the butler, who was leisurely bringing up in the rear, unconscious of Buttons's find.
With renewed courage, the pug rushed towards the paper bag. He had almost reached it when the quiet gentleman gave the bag an opening twist, and, as a furry head with a pair of fiery eyes shot out, he exclaimed:
"Hi, hi, Kootchie!"
The earnestness with which Kootchie hi, hied became instantly apparent by the piteous howls that rose from out of the murderous clawing, snarling mass of flying fur and silver ornaments. And the speed with which Buttons's companion hastened to the rescue with his loaded cane proved that even a Boston butler can get a move on. Before he could interfere, however, the quiet gentleman took a hand in the game.
"Stand back," he demanded, in tones that showed he would brook no interference. "Buttons is death on cats. Kootchie is death on pugs. You like fun. I like fair play."
In less than twenty seconds a crowd of loungers, newsboys, nursegirls, and pedestrians hurried to the scene. In the confusion somebody thoughtfully told a policeman to ring for the "hurry-up" wagon. But before it arrived the butler was permitted to carry home in his arms what there was left of Buttons.
"Cheese it, der cop!" shouted a newsboy, as the butler picked up his limp and disfigured companion. And, as the crowd scattered, every one was amused to see a fine, gray, stumpy-tailed cat make its way to the yellow-haired little maid on the bench.
As the latter lovingly stroked her shining coat she remarked proudly, "Kootchie is my little pussy tat. Papa say,'Kootchie, put Buttons to sleep.'"
And the policeman winked with ghoulish satisfaction when the father spoke up, "Kootchie is a regular California cyclone. She is a young
wild cat a friend in Tiger Valley sent me. I'm fond of pets, you know, and as she felt a bit homesick this evening I brought her out here to give her a picnic."
Frazer's Find
BY ROBERTA LITTLEHALE.
THE midnight stars glowed through the broken blackness of a winter's sky down upon the roof of a house where a man sat alone with his arms stretched over an empty bed. Such of his thoughts as were within his control were focused on the life and the death of his past. The bare branches of the willows scraped to and fro on the shingles, and the water in the reservoir lapped softly against the piles of the foundation. There was no light in the room to show the already hopeless untidiness of inanimate things, and the quiet figure of the aging man seemed carved out of rock.
To the youth of him, physical and mental, he returned, and remembered that he had been modeled on lines which made people expect the things for which they willingly yielded him affection and consideration in advance. It was in the tempered pain of the hope of fulfilment that his family and friends had speeded him from New England to the practise of his profession of law in a Southern city. It was in their early triumph at having counted on him truly that the fever of the California gold days got into his veins. It had been no struggle to him to throw everything over and make for the life that beat fastest and fullest in incident. The struggle had lain in separation from a woman whose saneness and spirit he felt he could not live without. But in the end he had disregarded her opposition for the sake of the beckoning fortunes and joined an ox-train caravan over the plains. The dragging slowness with which the days went by had been broken only by the alertness of his own fancy, until the discovery, one blistering Arizona night, of the loss of his money-belt. He had bathed only five miles farther back, and he had no memory of having restrapped the hot and heavy buckskin about his waist. Ignoring the danger of Indian attack, he rode over again in the starlight the miles to the little creek in the wilderness. It had been so
much of a relief to find it safe He stood strapping it about him, and he could hear as distinctly now as then the sound that fell on his ears. It was the hot and hopeless sobbing of a human voice. He had stood immovable, conscious that a group of cacti on his right sheltered a prostrate body. Then he had hurried over and found a slender boy, a slight, nervous, black-eyed Mexican, with a sunburned fairness of skin revealing his mixture of Castilian blood.
He had raised the boy quietly, and the child had hung about his neck, frenzied and fainting. The weakness of his condition made anything impossible beyond literally riding with him in his arms back again to camp. The boy's clothes were torn and dirty and his flesh was bleeding, but his delicate Southern beauty was none the less strongly in evidence.
Frazer remembered the interest and assistance of his comrades. They had hovered in the silence of men's earnestness until the boy was able to make himself coherent. His father, and mother, and brothers had been seized by the Indians, and only the accident of his having been sent after a straying mare had saved his life, by enabling him to hide himself successfully from the raiders.
His extravagant affection for Frazer made a shadow the only simile of his constant presence with him. The boy's nervous timidity and gentleness had found its chief outlet in the watchfullest care of him and the things he cared for. He had seemed wholly lacking in the lore of his class regarding life in the open. He had never gone among the horses or cared to use a gun, but had taken upon himself the cooking and domestic duties of camp life.
The men, in their vigorous courage and spirit, had found the boy monotonous except in the satisfaction he picturesquely afforded, and Frazer had accepted his homage with a mind so absorbed in his own affairs as to be little short of indifferent to the lad's presence.
As they had traveled heavily on over the Texas plains and slept under the Texas stars, Frazer could remember the softness of the small hand that had wakened him from sleep in its searching for the comfort of his presence. And one night the child had crept close to him.
"Señor——"
Frazer had wanted to sleep; he had answered nothing.
"Señor!" The boy's hand lingered this time in an earnest pressure upon his own.
"Yes?" he had said.
"It is only—may I stay always with you?"
It had seemed a simple thing to promise to keep him with him, and Frazer had gone to sleep in the very midst of the passionate little torrent of Mexican gratitude.
In the excitement of his early months in California the boy had seemed vastly a nuisance in transportation. Frazer had stayed only long enough in San Francisco to acquire an outfit and vocabulary, and hurried off to the southern mines. The boy rode closely by his side, indifferent to fatigue, his cheerfulness clouded by the fear that he might be overlooked and left behind.
Those months of feverish toil, and exaltation, and depression! As they lengthened into years, with the pot of gold still at the inaccessible end of the rainbow, and the blunt unloveliness of the frontier life rusting the vigor of his finer fiber, Frazer remembered his sense of restless resentment because the woman whom he loved and had left would not make any acknowledgment of his mistake or his failure. The impersonal tone of her early letters had been easier to bear than the silence she was beginning to make him endure. It seemed to him the tensity of his resolve to wrest the success of yellow gold through the clustering difficulties had only taken its firmest hold of him before the illness came that had hastened a revelation perhaps unfortunately delayed.
He remembered through the first hours before unconsciousness had come to him how glad he had been to feel that the boy was with him. They were living in the roughest of cliff cabins, alone, and he had ordered him off to camp for a doctor. The boy had given him whisky, and then had stood in so irresolute a fright and suffering that Frazer had sworn him into action.
He knew now that he had lain four weeks near death; but when he opened his eyes upon that mellow October twilight, long ago, he was unconscious of anything but a pair of dimming Mexican eyes that dropped tears on his gaunt face, and an intense feminine sobbing mingled with expressions of love for him shaken out of the abyss of a suffering woman's heart. The hot cheeks that rested on his own were those he was used to in the boy. The clothes on her limbs in all their pitiful poverty were the masculine ones he had liked to see so picturesquely carried, but the strain in the voice and the music of its words were new, and amazing, and appalling.
In the silence of weakness he listened, and over and over again he heard the reiteration of her resolve.
"There is nothing, beloved, that can drive me from you but the death from your hand which will not kill."
And after awhile he had said to her:
"Little one, why did you do it?"
But he had known it was the wisdom of the wisest before she had answered him, that for a girl this life offered greater perils as well as fewer chances.
She did not light their candle, but remained on her knees by the bed, getting his medicine at intervals by the lingering light that came in from the window.
"It will be just the same," she had whispered; "it need make no difference, señor."
And Frazer had lain there, facing the fact of the very great difference, in a regret that could fancy no arrangement not death-doing to this woman who had nursed him, and had loved him, and had told him so.
"The woman at the hotel—the landlady," he had said to her in his weak, thin voice, "she would care for you if I paid her, or you might go East. You might go to school."
But the helpless poverty of his present condition had forced a wan smile on his dry lips, and the girl was writhing as with actual physical
pain and would not listen.
In his weakened condition he could not concentrate himself sufficiently to adopt any decisive measure. He had felt the tumult of her emotions gradually still itself as he laid his hand on her short, black hair, and when her breathing was even and quiet he had asked her, feeling a revolt within him, "The doctor, and the boys—have they guessed it?"
But how had he expected her to know anything of any man but the one she loved? She did not know, she had answered him; she had not thought to think of it.
And she had not slept through the long night hours, nor had he, and in the morning the fever was high again.
In the dragging feebleness of his convalescence both had avoided any reference to the revelation that night. Things went on as before, but the humble devotion and care of Frazer's Mexican protégée was as properly interpreted by the quick camp instinct as it was immediately acquiesced in and forgotten.
From this time Frazer had little communication with the civilization he had deserted, and none whatever with the woman who waited in the South in silence and the suffering of doubt. He remembered the utter emptiness of his life and his hope as the following years of his toil and alertness yielded him only bitterer disappointments. There came children now, little dark miniatures of their stout, faded mother, whose heart was as full of reverence and love for him as was her girl's heart, and who seemed not to know that the hours which he lived with her were lost hours.
It was on his way home to her one night, in the gentleness which masked his hideous unrest, that his eye discovered the ledge of quartz which had more than laid the foundation of that success he had early strived for. It had not taken long to form a company, and before the year was out gold came to his pocket in as unsweated for a fashion as the air to his lungs.
The men, his partners, had thrown back their shoulders and inflated their chests. The blood ran in their veins to more composite
